


built my life around you.

by shedoessomewriting



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Moving, Sad, but it will (hopefully) be good!, fluff ? kind of ?, idk where this is going, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedoessomewriting/pseuds/shedoessomewriting
Summary: it took the byers & el three months before they moved away from hawkins, indiana. this is the story of those three months.





	1. month one.

**Author's Note:**

> "in this room, it was like she felt him.
> 
> like how she felt will when he was in the upside down.
> 
> like she knew he was still out there, but didn’t where he was or how to get to him."

The boxes were starting to pile up around the house, starting with the boys’ room. Jonathan had insisted that every movie poster stay up until the last possible minute, and Will had agreed, claiming that it gave the room its “personality.” There were still no buyers on the house - these days, nobody wanted to move into a small town, and everyone who already lived in Hawkins had heard too much about the Byers’ home to ever believe it was anything but cursed.

_“Well, her son, the young one, he went missing in their own backyard.”_

_“You heard she chopped through the front wall with an ax, right?”_

_“With all of those failed relationships of hers, the property’s got to have bad luck.”_

_“It’s no wonder they’re moving - all of the stuff they’ve gone through in this town… I’m about ready to move.”_

It was like these people, who she had known her whole entire life, suddenly spoke about her like she didn’t exist. They assumed she didn’t hear her - but Joyce heard everything, and if she didn’t, her kids did.

Will and El became attached to each other about two weeks after the incident, went practically everywhere together. They were like twins separated at birth - where El was, there was Will, and vice-versa. They had a communication, an understanding between them that nobody else even came close to relating to. It was that intense connection to the Upside Down, to the world of demogorgons and mind flayers, to the world Joyce was trying so hard to keep them away from, not that she would ever be able to succeed in that task.

At least, not as long as they were in Hawkins.

Selling the house certainly wasn’t going well, especially considering the fact that Joyce refused to speak with Gary for ages after what Hopper said in the bunker.

_“You’re still moving out of here? I mean, that is the plan, right?”_

_“You know… we’ll see how it goes.”_

_“How it goes? How what goes?”_

But she knew how it went. Because she turned the keys, because she saw the empty spot on the runway, because she walked out of the bunker _alive_.

She knew it was time to contact Gary, to really find some interested buyers for her home. She was torn, though; stuck between a rock and a hard place. This home had memories of Bob, which were, of course, unexplainably painful. But this home also had memories of Jonathan’s first steps, Will’s first completed drawing, the boys both saying “mama” long before “dada,” long nights of hearing Will, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas laughing loudly and shushing each other, seeing Nancy sneak out of Jonathan’s window at least two days a week and pretending like she didn’t notice.

And it had memories of Hopper. His gruff way of speaking when he believed Will was dead and she didn’t, his gentle smile as they swapped a cigarette back and forth at her kitchen table, his comforting, silent, strong presence when he sat on the floor of her room just to _be there_ after Bob.

Joyce wanted to escape the memories of Hop. Didn’t she? Shouldn’t she want that growth and progress, the ability to take just one single breath in her daily life without traces of him in her mind? As it was, he was everywhere. On the couch, sitting at the kitchen table, in every door frame, around all of the corners, she felt him. There hadn’t been a constant in the life of Joyce Byers in ages, and now, the constant was one she never wanted: a constant ache, a hurt, a sadness unmatched in anything she had ever felt before.

It didn’t help that Murray was calling her constantly, desperate to get ahold of her. He was convinced, so undeniably certain that there was hope for Hopper. Murray, the certifiable conspiracist, who couldn’t accept anything for truth, was trying to give her hope. And she refused to take the bait. It was almost easier this way - hopeless as she was, at least she could grieve. At least she could mourn. She knew what it was to have the hope that someone seemingly gone was not as far as others believed, and there was nothing more painful. Nothing worse than people insisting that _you’re crazy, he’s gone, we have to plan the funeral, you need to get over it_ , when you know better.

She had already known better, and this time, she would rather not. Perhaps ignorance really was bliss.

In this state of ignorance, she could grieve, and grieve she did. When her eyes closed at night, it was Hopper’s face she saw, looking up at her from the runway.

 _I looked away. I didn’t even care enough to_ watch _as I turned the keys._

Joyce didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. She missed shifts at work for the first time since Will’s disappearance, but this time Melvald’s was closing anyways so it was time she moved on from that, too. When it was time for dinner, Jonathan cooked. When she sat at the table, moving her food around her plate with her fork to at least try and make it look like some of it had been consumed, she did her best to smile at the kids, to ask about their days, but nothing convinced them. They were too smart - and she knew better than to try to trick them. ( _She_ was too smart.)

It was a miracle on days when Joyce even got words out. Every moment of her existence was spent packing up their house in almost complete silence. 

One month, and there was no improvement in her. Simply put, she missed him too much. It was as easy as that - although it wasn’t easy, not in any sense of the word.

As hard as it was for her, it was worse for El in the beginning. Joyce didn’t hesitate, not for a moment, to welcome Hop’s daughter into her home as her own. They drove up to the cabin a week after the Fourth with empty boxes filling the backseat of her car to pack everything up. El took several boxes into her room, and Joyce took the rest into Hopper’s. She dug through nighstand drawers and was met with unopened packs of Camels, no less than four lighters, pictures of the kids, drawings that El had done. His dresser met her with mostly pants and socks, but there was also El’s birth certificate, framed, resting on top. “Jane Hopper,” it read, though none of them had ever called her Jane. Jane’s life was meant to be so different, but El’s life was uniquely her own.

His closet was the hardest part, because the instant she opened it, his smell flooded the room - stale liquor and cigarettes and maple syrup and pine trees combined, intoxicatingly wonderful and so very him. She grabbed one of the extra uniform shirts he had hanging up, pulled it off the hanger, and held it to her face, breathing in the scent that she had come to know as an everyday thing but would never, it occurred to her, smell again once it faded off these clothes. She carefully folded each flannel (he had far too many), all of the extra uniforms, one of the two Hawaiian shirts he apparently owned (as if the first one wasn’t ridiculously, stupidly charming enough). She grabbed the packing tape, sealed the box up, grabbed the marker, labeled it “Hopper’s Clothes,” and somehow, couldn’t move on from this room. She was on the floor, wedged in between his bed and closet door, a space that was certainly too small for him, as it was nearly too small for her, and she could not get up.

In this room, it was like she felt him.

Like how she felt Will when he was in the Upside Down.

Like she knew he was still out there, but didn’t where he was or how to get to him.

She scratched the feeling off of the back of her neck, swiped the tears that had fallen while she went through his things off of her cheek, and stood, picking up one of the many boxes surrounding her. Joyce made her way into the living room, noticing El’s door was propped open, but just barely. She heard the soft sniffles from inside, and her Mom instinct kicked in - she went over, knocked gently on the door frame, and waited for a response, but was met with nothing. Carefully, gently, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and saw El, cross-legged on the floor, clutching a book in her hands like a lifeline and crying.

“El?” Joyce prompted, hoping to get the girl’s attention without having to cross too far into her room. She knew, because of her boys, that a room was as good as territory, and she would not enter unwelcome. El, eyes red and tears staining her cheeks, looked up at Joyce. “Can I come in?”

El nodded, so Joyce walked in and sat on the floor across from her, criss-crossing her legs to match El’s stance.

“Hi,” El said, her voice breaking even as she muttered the tiny word.

“Hello,” Joyce answered.

“I miss him,” she sobbed.

Joyce felt tears start to well up in her own eyes again. “I know, baby, I know. I miss him, too,” she said, moving to sit next to El instead of across from her and wrapping her arms around the girl’s shaking shoulders. El’s height matched her own, but she still felt so small as Joyce held her.

Everyone missed Hopper. Will had drawn him a picture that was next to Bob’s on the fridge. Jonathan talked about him daily. The rest of Will and El’s party always cracked jokes about the things that would drive him crazy, especially when El had been at the Wheeler’s a minute or two past her curfew. Even Powell and Callahan were regularly dropping off both burnt and uncooked casseroles on a regular basis at the Byers’.

But truly, nobody missed Hopper like Joyce and El. Nobody could. Nobody knew him like they did, try as they might. Joyce, his companion and closest friend and _almost_ his something more, and El, his girl, his daughter, his world… they didn’t know how to do this. How to go through his home, and fish through his belongings, the whole place smelling so strongly of him both girls expected him to walk through the front door at any given moment.

One month was still several months too soon.

 _When the house is sold_ , Joyce thought. _When I’ve got a buyer, when I really have to move. Then we can get his things._

Back into her car they climbed, the drive home sounding only of the steady hum of the car’s engine and the sniffles from both of the girls as they tried to steady their breathing, calm their tears.

The minute they got home, Joyce hopped in the shower, anxious to get the smell of the cabin, of Hopper, which was still lingering on her skin, off.

It was too raw still, this wound he had left.

And the smell of him only made her think back to the bunker, where she was too afraid, too ashamed, too heartbroken to even look at him as she turned the keys, as she killed him, as she ripped him away from the world, from El, from herself.

One month.

It had been the longest month of her life.

She was desperate to get out of Hawkins.

The next morning, she called Gary, and got the first viewing of the house set up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, hey, welcome to my first fanfiction about stranger things, my very favorite show. where is this going, you may ask? I have no idea. but it took me four days to write the first part because I want it to be as amazing as possible. let me know what you think and if you have any headcanons of your own you may want to see implemented in the rest of the story (which is neither written or mapped out!). thanks for reading!


	2. month two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "the feeling didn’t leave this time, though. not like it did in the cabin, with a quick dismissal and departure from the room. it lingered around her, and for a moment, she was certain that he was closer to her than he had ever been. 
> 
> and then the ceiling light flickered.
> 
> then the one on her dresser. the small lamp on her nightstand. the ceiling light again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally done, one week after chapter one. I love this chapter - it took a turn I wasn't expecting and is based off of one of my theories on hopper's whereabouts. (plus, there's a sneaky little winona ryder/david harbour reference in here. let me know if you find it!) thanks for reading, friends!!

“Yes, yes, it was great meeting you, too,” Joyce said, the cheer in her voice as artifical as the highlights in the hair of the woman in front of her. “Gary and I will be in touch soon.” The woman - Barbara, her name was - opened her mouth to say something else, but Joyce bruptly, albeit rudely, slammed the front door closed before another word was spoken. She pushed her back up against the door, sliding down until she was seated on the carpet, a steady exhale escaping as she sunk to the floor.

That had been her third showing of the house in the last two days, and she was exhausted. 

Ideally, yes, she wouldn’t be the one showing off the house - Gary would. But fuckin’ Gary, who was Gary to her family? A face they saw on the rare day when they could go out to dinner, somebody who shopped at Melvald’s, the person who put the Holland’s house on sale, the person who sold her very secret moving plan out to Hopper. Gary didn’t know the spirit of the Byers’ home like she did. He had no idea what the stain on the kitchen wall was from (Will had taken a crayon to it when he was three, and she had desperately scrubbed at it in an attempt to wash it out before Lonnie got home), or why the wallpaper behind the couch was just a little bit different than it was in the rest of the living room.

No spirit, no sale - or at least, that’s what Joyce believed.

Gary took his fair share of showings too, of course; it was his job. He sold the basic points of the house: Three bed, one bath, full kitchen, price point negotiable.

Gary generally got more people to place offers on the house, but he was still, as he said, “waiting on the right one.”

Joyce wanted to be able to meet every single person who wanted to purchase her home. Because it was her home. It was a new family walking in the front door and treading over the memories her family already had there, ripping them out of the floor and walls, and replacing them with their own. She wanted to make sure this new family was going to be worthy of her family’s home, but the more women she met like Barbara, the less sure she was that anyone was going to be good enough for this house.

Jonathan was worthy of this home; he grew up here. He was the first person who ever lived here and only here. Will, of course, fought for his right to be in their house, fought for it all the way from the Upside Down, but he wouldn’t have had to - Will was her baby. El deserved to be here - for all she had gone through, El Hopper truly deserved her seat at the table. She deserved a family that was steady, that was loving, that would fight for her and not leave her.

Of course, Hop hadn’t wanted to leave her. He was steady. He was loving. He fought for her.

But the Upside Down, the Russians? They won out in the end. And he had to leave.

Which was why they had to leave Hawkins.

Because Joyce couldn’t guarantee for Will, for Jonathan, for El that she would never leave when the threat of interdimensional monsters and portals and Russians were around every single corner. They deserved that. Didn’t they? Didn’t they deserve a mother who would be with them no matter what?

She thought they did. The only place where they could really have that, really have her, was any place that was far, far from Hawkins. The kids still weren’t particularly fond of the idea of moving, but she was certain if she kept that inarguably fake smile plastered on her face, she could really convince them that this was a good idea, a great idea. That Hawkins couldn’t be thir home anymore - because a home is supposed to be safe, and Hawkins, for them, was anything but.

Will walked into the room, a heavily decorated binder in his hands, and sat down at his usual chair around the kitchen table. “Hey, Mom,” he greeted her.

“Hey, baby. What’re you up to?”

“Planning the party's last D&D campaign before we leave,” Will replied. “We’re not playing for like, two more weeks, but it has to be really awesome, since it’s going to be our last one until Christmas.”

“Right,” Joyce responded, nodding as she met Will at the table. “And a good campaign takes a long time to plan, which is the only reason why you haven’t been packing?” She had pretended not to notice for a while, but none of the kids were doing a great job with packing up their things. El’s stuff was a big exception - she still had so much in the cabin - but Jonathan and Will each had at least four empty boxes in their rooms, ready to be filled.

Will scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick that remained from the events of Independence Day. “Uh, yes?

She sat down across from him and held his hands in her own. “You sure?” He shook his head. “What’s going on?” she asked.

When Will looked back up at her, he had tears in his eyes. “I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to go. I’m finally back - like, all the way. And now I have to leave? I don’t want to go.”

Joyce reached across the table, wiping the tears from Will’s cheek with her thumb. “Change is hard,” she agreed. “But there is nothing for us in Hawkins.”

“What about my friends? Jonathan doesn’t want to leave Nancy, El doesn’t want to leave Mike. I don’t want to leave anyone, to be honest. Robin, we just met her, and now I’m just not supposed to see her until Christmas?" Will ran the back of his hand across his face rather aggressively, getting rid of the tears now falling rapidly and leaving a his skin an angry shade of red. “I am not ready to go.”

An outburst from Will was unusual. Jonathan, El? Almost expected. But Will was sweet, the baby of the family, not prone to shouting or acting rashly. These high levels of emotion, they only made Joyce feel far, far worse about her decision to move them out of Hawkins. Because what else could be causing them? He had fought with Mike a little bit before everything at Starcourt, but they had made up. Other than that, all seemed well in the world of Will Byers.

Except the fact that his mother was uprooting his life.

“Just because you’re ready to go doesn’t mean the rest of us are, Mom,” Will said, back to his quiet, tender voice. He hadn’t meant anything negative or rude by the comment, that much she knew. But that did not stop it from hurting. Joyce knew she was the only one who really wanted to leave, but just because the kids didn’t want it did not mean that it wasn’t the best thing for them. She needed to get out of Hawkins or else she would cease to function. She would just be existing as a mother who was just a human ghost. What kind of life could she give her kids?

Any life that was worth living couldn’t be here.

She kissed Will on the top of his head, and went into her room, locking the door behind herself before she let herself break down. Will was the only one home - both of the other kids were at the Wheelers - and although she didn’t want him to have to hear her, the sobs that shook her body were certainly anything but quiet. She went to her closet, pulled out the one box of Hopper’s clothes she had managed to pack up, and dug through until she found the uniform shirt. What she needed, she knew it was in the breast pocket. She’d watched him put it there no more than eight weeks ago, although, what a lifetime had passed in those eight weeks.

She dug out the paper, unfolded it, and was surprised to see Hopper’s handwriting underneath her own.

“Feelings. Jesus.”

Those words weren’t for her. Those were for El, and she was thankful the girl had been lucky enough to hear them from her dad. She didn’t want to intrude on what was obviously a personal thing between them, so she folded the note at his handwriting, looking instead only at her own. The notes she had left for him in the margins, the words she now needed to hear.

“Stay calm. Listen. Remember to breathe.”

She let out a soft laugh, drying her eyes before her tears ruined her and Hop’s handiwork. “It would be easier to breathe if I knew you were close,” she whispered to no one in particular. “All of this would be easier - we wouldn’t be moving, and El wouldn’t be so upset, and Jonathan so unusually quiet, and Will so angry. I wish you were here.”

And she felt it again, that same feeling she’d had in the cabin. That feeling that he was here, closer than she knew, just slightly out of reach.

She tried to shake it off again, convinced that it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Sure that she was just looking for reasons to hope, despite assuring herself that hope was the last thing she wanted.

(Anyone in their right mind would want hope in a situation like this. And Joyce Byers was nothing if not someone in her right mind - she’d proved that time and time again.)

The feeling didn’t leave this time, though. Not like it did in the cabin, with a quick dismissal and departure from the room. It lingered around her, and for a moment, she was certain that he was closer to her than he had ever been. 

And then the ceiling light flickered.

Then the one on her dresser. The small lamp on her nightstand. The ceiling light again.

Her breathing increased, too fast to comprehend, and she kept thinking of the note she had left Hopper - remember to breathe.  
And she had thought it would be easier to breathe knowing he was close.

Joyce ran into the kitchen, practically fell against the phone, and called Murray. He answered on the third ring, but said nothing, clearly waiting for her to speak.

“Murray,” she gasped. “I have to talk to you.”

“Joyce. Finally,” he responded, the relief in his voice incredibly apparent. “I know you don’t want to talk about Jim, but -”

“No, no, Murray, I need to talk to you about Hop - about Jim. My lights, they’re,” she took a deep breath, hardly able to keep up with herself, “they’re flickering. It’s the same thing that happened when Will was in the Upside Down.”

Silence.

“Murray?”

“He’s alive. But I didn’t think he was in the Upside Down.”

Joyce furrowed her brow. “What? You knew he was alive?”

She heard Murray sigh on the other end of the line. “Listen, I had reliable sources confirm to me that the Russians managed to sneak back out of Hawkins with an American in tow. And remember the runway, Joyce?” She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and shot back a quick yes. “There was nothing there. Not even dust. Not goo like the Russian scientists. Just… nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. And nothing means we cannot be sure of death.”

“Right,” Joyce agreed, feeling the hope bubble up inside of her, practically biting her tongue to keep from screaming.

“I thought he was in Russia. That’s why I’ve been trying to call you. If we can work with your military contact -”

“- Dr. Owens, yeah -”

“- yes, Dr. Owens, I thought we could work with him and get him out. You know, break him free.”

“But if he’s in the Upside Down?”

Murray huffed. “Then we’re going to need a lot more than American military men to save him.”


	3. month three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you and your girls. we would move mountains for you.
> 
> we will move mountains to get back to you."

The "for sale" sign had officially been covered up with a bright red "SOLD" sticker. The moving truck had been in front of their house for a handful of days as they loaded in box after box, filled with the big things and the little - a book Joyce had never seen before that Will had insisted he "needed," an old record player that Jonathan had thrifted off of Claudia Henderson a few days before, a stack of letters to El from Mike all wrapped in a rubber band, a handful of flannels belonging to someone whose name was no longer mentioned in the Byers' household.

He was alive. That much they knew.

The last month had been a matter of figuring out the location he was alive in. Owens had been sending men undercover to Russia for weeks. Murray was keeping an eye out for electromagnetic shifts - turns out, the man was almost as smart as Scott Clarke, who Joyce didn't dare get involved in all of this. And Joyce, although unable to help directly, had been given strict orders from Owens a week or two prior: "You still have to move out of Hawkins."

The shock on her face certainly couldn't be matched by any expression she had worn before. "Excuse me?"

"You were planning on moving, right?" Owens asked. She nodded, pressing her nails into her palms as her hands made tiny fists, so frustrated with his words. "You still have to go. You can't stay here."

"Why not? If Hop's alive, if there's a chance for him - I was only going to stay for him. If he's not really gone, what's the point in me leaving, really?"

Owens shook his head. "Joyce, listen."

"I am listening!" she shouted. "I just think what you're saying doesn't really make any sense!"

"Joyce, calm down," Owens said, casting a glance over his shoulder. They had met at a diner on the edge of town - the kids still didn't know Hop was alive, and she couldn't risk them finding out before her proof was solid - but still, the chance of their words falling on unfriendly ears was very, very high. She didn't want any more harm coming to Hopper (no more than there already was, certainly) or their kids (because wasn't El just as much hers at this point?), so she took a deep breath, continuing her sentiment.

"Owens. I'm sorry. I just do not understand why I have to leave if the very reason I wanted to stay is going to be back soon," she said, her voice getting caught on the last two words - back soon. Hopper, back in Hawkins, with her, like it was always supposed to be.

"I see where you're coming from," he sighed. "But if there has been Russian surveillance - surveillance of any kind, really - on your property, your family, you, then they know that you planned on moving. They know you showed the house, worked with a real estate agent. They know that you were really going to go - and why would you stop? You have no real cause, except finding out the truth about the only reason you would have stayed,” Owens concluded.

Joyce had slouched back in her chair, frustrated beyond words because Owens was right. Incredibly, annoyingly right. Surely they would know that she knew about Hop if she stayed. And if they had him? There might be no saving him at that point. 

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she agreed. “Okay. So the kids and I still move. But I have a request.”

“Anything,” Owens sighed, relieved to be miraculously avoiding the stubborn temper of Joyce Byers.

“Move us somewhere where you and I can still be in contact,” she said, quickly adding, “and Murray, Murray needs to stay updated.”

Owens nodded, consenting to her terms. “Sure, Joyce. We can do that for you.”

“And I have to stay in the know. If something changes by the  _ minute _ , I need to know  _ first _ .”

“Now, I don’t know; I have military, government officials who technically I am obligated to udpate before -”

“No, Owens. I need to know  _ first _ . His daughter is in my care. We are his family, and he was taken from  _ us _ . We get to know before anyone else,” she insisted. 

“Sure, okay,” Owens relented, clearly not up to what was quickly becoming a loud, public argument about a quiet, private situation. “We’ll call you first.”

It had been two weeks, though, and not one single phone call had come through. Murray called every so often, just to make sure packing was going okay and could he do anything to help and my magnets are firmly staying stuck to my fridge, are yours?

She was desperately optimistic, anxious to hear the best news she could hope for: “He’s alive. We have him. He’s coming home.”

Tomorrow, they woud pack the last of their things into the moving truck and head out to St. Louis, Missouri, the city agreed upon by her and Owens. Three hours from Hawkins - far enough to get that necessary distance, close enough that she could drive to meet Owens, to pick up Hopper, if and when the need arose.

She was just so ready to see him again. 

El still didn’t know. Of all the people she was itching to tell, El Hopper was at the top of the list. Perhaps if the girl still had her powers, Joyce would have told her first thing - she missed Hop just as much, albeit in a different way. But she knew what would happen if she told El now: a desperate attempt to find him, a frustrated evening as her nose bled with no results, an angry, sad teenager who just wanted to see her dad again.

But that letter - she’d accidentally seen the end, part of his private notes to El and Mike that she was never meant to see - that might let El know. 

_ “Keep the door open three inches.” _

Joyce hoped, with everything in her, that those simple words would be enough to give El a clue into the whereabouts of Hopper. Maybe she knew something they didn’t; maybe those words would trigger a memory, a sudden jump start in the return of her abilities,  _ anything _ that might bring Hopper closer.

She had tried this before, a week after she realized he was alive. Joyce and El had gone back to the cabin, determined to finish cleaning out its destroyed remains for anything personal, special, important to the Hopper family. El pulled up the boarding in the middle of the living room, and grabbed a folder labeled “Sara.”

“He’d have wanted that,” she’d said, handing the manilla envelope to Joyce, who didn’t dare open it because this was far, far too close to Hopper’s heart for her to see without his knowledge. Of course she knew what had happened to Sara, his first daughter - he had returned to a small town where everyone knew everyone and everything, and news spread like wildfire. However, he had rarely spoken about Sara to her directly, so she was forced to assume that he wasn’t ready to open that part of his heart quite yet.

In the cabin, Joyce was handing El loads of Hopper’s things, desperate to kick start something in the girl who had done very little over the summer besides watch  _ Miami Vice _ reruns or soaps in Hopper’s old flannels, disregarding the wardrobe she and Max had spent so much money on. To her chagrin, El simply wandered around the cabin, gently folding or placing Hopper’s things in a box, and carelessly tossing her own things on top.

No sign of her powers returning.

No chance Joyce was going to spill the beans about Hopper’s life.

Her boys weren’t ready to know about Hop, either - they had grieved, processed, and allowed Hopper to exist in memory only, something neither she or El had been able to do. They were sweet about it, though; Jonathan constantly took El out for ice cream runs or to the movies, and Will typically tried to cook breakfast for Joyce (he wasn’t great at it, either, but the gesture was kind). They had taken to being the nurturers for their girls - stepped into the role Hop had filled in both of their lives and done their best to live up to the standard he had set.

How relieved they would be, she thought, when they realized that Hopper was alive after all, and they could just go back to being teenage boys instead of part-time caretakers.

Even with her hope, it was still hard to live a life without his constant presence. He had become a rock, something stable in her ever-changing life, and she had come to lean on him, to count on his being there, to looking forward to the days he visited her at Melvald’s during his lunch break.

Every day since the events of Independence Day, she wondered  _ why _ she hadn’t said yes to the date at Enzo’s sooner. Because she thought she wasn’t over Bob?  _ Ridiculous _ , she scolded herself, certain that the timeline would have shifted, that  _ something _ would have been different had she just shown up like she was supposed to.

He wasn’t allowed to be gone because they had a date to get to. Even if he couldn’t hold her to her own commitment to their date, he wasn’t about to get out of his. Not that easily - although nothing about it had been “easy.”

It was sitting on the couch, after another night of frozen dinners and with El snuggled up next to her,  _ Miami Vice _ on the TV and both girls dozing off, that the phone rang for the first time since the house had been purchased. Joyce jumped, forever startled by the sound of a ringing phone, but quickly hopped off the couch, doing her best to keep her breathing steady to avoid alerting El to the reason for her need to get to the phone.

_ This has to be Owens. This has to be Owens. Please,  _ god _ , let it be Owens. _

“Hello? Who is this?” she answered the phone, forcing a very relaxed nonchalance into her words.

“Joyce. Hi, I was hoping you’d answer,” Owens responded. The sigh that escaped her was unintentional, and caused El to look up at her quizically. She smiled back, pointed to the TV, and mouthed,  _ I’ll be right back, one second _ , to her.

“Hi, Sam, how are you?” Joyce asked, electing to keep Owens’ last name out of the picture, figuring it was a name El would remember from the day she closed the gate the first time - the girl was not known for forgetting things.

“First name, huh? One of the kids must be there. Listen, Joyce, we really think we’ve got him. My men in Russia are reporting that they’ve found a demogorgon in their prisons.”

“I thought they were -” she started, her mouth agape.

“So did I. But they have successfully opened a gate to the Upside Down in a city in Russia called Kamchatka. And from there, they have retrieved a demogorgon - and an American.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I”ve been told about him already,” Joyce whispered, even her vague words too specific. “The American isn’t him.”

“Joyce. A  _ different _ American. A second American, pulled right from the Upside Down. A tall man, with a beard, hair that should have been cut, and the tattered uniform of one of their comrades.”

Joyce bit her bottom lip, trying to stop the tears she felt forming her eyes.

“Oh, my god. He was there. I was right,” she mumbled.

“You were right. But he’s not there. He’s in Russia.”

“Okay.” She was eager for him to cut to the chase, to tell her that he would be home so, so soon, so that she might not have to leave this place.

“We’re going to extract him and bring him back to Hawkins. But it could take a few months.”

“Okay,” she responded, unable to hide the disappointment in the word.

“We still need you to go to Missouri. You have to stay there, until he’s back in Indiana. And then we will bring you home, right away, as soon as possible. Just… hang tight.”

“Okay. Okay, okay.” Joyce sighed. “Okay. Hang tight. Talk to you soon, Sam,” she said, hanging up the phone, the grin on her face unmistakable.

Hang tight. She could do that. She had been doing that for three months, with no real cause. But now they knew, now  _ she _ knew, that he was alive, that they were going to get him, that he was coming home.

She walked back into the living room, plopping herself back into place beside El on the couch.

“Who was that?” she asked.

Joyce smiled. “Just a friend. Have you finished packing yet?”

El shrugged, pulling the too-long sleeves of Hopper’s flannel over her hands. “Almost.”

“Well. When this episode’s over, last few boxes, okay? We have to leave before lunch tomorrow,” Joyce reminded her.

“I know,” she grinned. “Would it be okay if we didn’t wash the flannel?”

Joyce kissed the top of her head. “They all still smell like him, huh?”

“A little. Like a little of him and a little of me, or him and you,” she agreed. “It’s nice.”

“I think so, too. Sure, we don’t have to wash the flannels quite yet.”

“Or ever,” El counteracted. Joyce laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard out of herself too much lately.

“Or ever,” she conceded.

El went to pack up her boxes shortly after, and Joyce poked by the boys’ room to make sure everything was going according to plan.

“Hey, Mom,” Jonathan said, ripping his headphones off. His stuff in the room he and Will now shared was still almost completely unpacked.

“Jonathan! Have you done  _ any _ packing? We leave tomorrow.”

“No, I know, Mom, but,” Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, “Nancy was going to bring all the kids over tomorrow, and she said she wanted to help me pack and go through things and I just…” he trailed off. Jonathan, truly, was the happiest she’d seen him in years; of course he was reluctant to go. He had a great girlfriend in Nancy, great friends in Steve and Robin, and the four teenagers took care of Will’s party like they were their own kids. Jonathan was finally enjoying life in Hawkins - and a pang of disappointment in herself rang through her as she thought about taking him away from it.

_ We’ll be back soon, Jonathan _ , she promised, silently. He couldn’t know that as soon as they found Hopper, they’d pack back up and return to Hawkins. It was just a decoy at this point; just to throw the Russians off the scent. Just to keep Hopper alive.

“Okay. No problem,” she reassured him, with a tight smile. “As long as it all gets packed up tomorrow.”

“Seventeen years of life in one day? I think we can handle that,” he teased, but she heard the sadness behind the words.

“Will, baby, how about you? About ready?” she asked as Jonathan put his headphones back on. That walkman was a gift from Nancy; he loved it.

“Almost,” he agreed. “I’ve got a handful of things that have to be donated or thrown on top of a box or two, but other than that…”

“Fourteen years of life in one day?”

“More like fourteen years of life in a few weeks. I don’t procrastinate as much as Jonathan,” he said, clearly trying to get a rise out of his brother.

“I can still hear you, you know,” Jonathan sang, feigning annoyance, but the smile on his face gave him away.

“Goodnight, guys. See you in the morning.” She closed the door on them right as Will threw a pillow at Jonathan, and could hear the result being shouted back (“Well, you missed, anyways!”).

It was bittersweet. The last time she’d say goodnight to them in this house. The last of  _ Miami Vice _ in the living room. The last of the burnt scrambled eggs to come in the morning.

But the things to come. The hope that the man who would surely glue their little found family together would be brought back, maybe not well but at least alive, and soon… that was worth it.

Even if they didn’t know. They’d understand. So much of their life had been about secret keeping these last few years, and she was ready for it to be done. As she stood in her vacant hallway, she promised herself that:  _ no more secrets once this is over. _

Tomorrow, their home would be filled with joy and laughter, sadness and tears. Friends old and new would come to say their see-you-soons, and the last of the boxes and all of their furniture would be loaded, maybe a little too haphazardly, into the back of the U-Haul that she’d hated seeing on her front lawn for the last handful of days. 

But tonight, she was alone at the kitchen table as she had been so many times, and the grocery list from two weeks ago was still on the counter with a pencil on top of it so it wouldn’t float away. She picked up the piece of paper and flipped it upside down. Grabbed the pencil. Began to write.

_ Hop. _

_ Hi. _

_ If you’ve been in the Upside Down, you’ve surely seen all of our things clear out of the house. You should know - we’re leaving Hawkins tomorrow. Me, the boys, El. Owens has us moving to Missouri, which is ridiculous because I don’t think anyone has ever moved to Missouri voluntarily. But I guess we’re not going voluntarily anyways. _

_ We know you’re alive. Well, the kids don’t. They will soon enough, but that girl of yours (of ours, I guess, now), she would try to find you so fast, and the disappointment that she couldn’t - her powers have all but vanished, Hop - would destroy her. So, they don’t know. But Owens knows, and his military men. Murray, he knows. _

_ I know. _

_ They’re on their way. They’ll be there soon. I know it’s been three months. I know you tried to tell me where you were. I wish I had listened sooner, figured you out sooner. But I’ve thought that about a few things lately. _

_ Seems I owe you a date at Enzo’s. Seven o’clock, the first Friday we’re all back in Hawkins. I found an extra one of those Hawaiian shirts you bought (two of them, really, Hop?), so you can wear that still, don’t worry. Pick me up, unless we’re already together. I think El might like that you know? And because she likes to watch  _ Miami Vice _ on Friday’s - I do too, now, by the way - we’ll be back and on the couch by ten. _

_ You and your girls. We would move mountains for you. _

_ We  _ will _ move mountains to get back to you. _

_ We’ve left the door open three inches and we can practically see you on the other side. _

_ See you soon. _

_ All my love. And El’s. And the boys. _

_ Joyce. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all finished. my first fic longer than a one-shot! this story has meant a lot to me because not only is it my first published stranger things fic (my favorite show in television history which has changed me and helped me grow in so many ways), but it is my first LONG (ish) fic. I really pushed myself on this one and I had a lot of fun doing it.
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> now, I have to get started on my fic for the jopper big-bang - I need 15k words and as this has proved, I'm not the fastest writer. stay tuned for little one-shots and short stories in the meantime!
> 
> xo


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